Chapter 18

Like Two Ships in the Night

The chairs had been arranged around the long wooden table, and the members of the Order were taking their seats—some exchanging murmurs, others reviewing documents.
Tonks arrived in silence, exhausted after yet another afternoon training the rookies at the Ministry. She slipped into her usual spot and, almost without realising it, her gaze sought Remus’s.

He looked at her instantly.

And for a moment, it was like always.
The same contained stillness. The same half-smile, soft and discreet.

But then, something unsettled her.

His eyes.

They weren’t fully his. The warm amber she had grown used to seemed paler, more liquid. As if a strange light shone through them from within.
There was a different gleam there.
Animal.

And then, as if he guessed what she was thinking, something flickered in his expression.

The smile lasted only a second more on his lips. Then he lowered his gaze to the parchments, in a discreet gesture.
As someone who does not wish to be observed more than necessary.

Tonks shifted in her seat, uncomfortable.
They were his eyes, yes. But not entirely.
Just like Lupin—he was himself, yes… but different. Tenser. As though some internal battle had begun to break loose inside him.

And she wasn’t the only one who had noticed.

Mad-Eye Moody’s magical eye, turning with its usual sluggishness, paused on Remus a moment longer than necessary, as if silently evaluating him.

But she didn’t linger on that thought because Moody, beside her, straightened and began to speak.

— Well —her mentor growled, raising his voice only slightly as he dropped a folder onto the table—. I’ve interrogated the two we caught in the raid. Neither knew anything about a certain Baltasar Greaves… They claim they acted on their own, with no apparent leader. Or so they thought… They didn’t even notice the ring on that third man.

Tonks frowned. Frustration rose through her like a hot wave climbing her spine.

— But someone is leading them —she said firmly—. Even if they’re unaware… perhaps the group’s leader—the one with the ring—never told them the truth.

Moody nodded slowly, a dark spark in his magical eye.

— Whoever he is… he’ll show himself again —he said gravely—. And when he does, we’ll be ready.

Sirius leaned forward, elbows resting on the table.

— The worrying thing isn’t just who that guy is. Voldemort is looking for something. We know that from several sources. What we don’t know is what.

Everyone nodded, sombre.

— The weapon —Emmeline murmured—. The one you mentioned, Sirius. Whatever it is, Greaves seems involved.

— But how do we reach him? —asked Sturgis Podmore, uneasy—. He’s not in any official registry. No one has seen him in years, and we don’t even know if Greaves truly is behind this.

A heavy silence spread across the kitchen.

Tonks lowered her gaze.
All she had was a stubborn hunch made of scattered pieces and names lost among the shadows of the underworld. Even within the Ministry’s own shadows.

And something inside her told her Baltasar Greaves wasn’t just any loose end.
No.
She knew that, one way or another, he was going to matter very soon.

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The meeting was brief.
When it ended, the members began to disperse.
Sirius stayed leaning against the cupboard, silently watching Remus gather his parchments with slow movements.

Tonks approached him at an unhurried pace, arms crossed.

— Everything okay?

Lupin looked up. His eyes, though tired, tried to offer her a trace of warmth.

— Yes —he said quietly—. I just need space… and time.

She nodded, though her expression tightened without meaning to. She knew what night it was.

— Do you want me to stay with you for a while? We still have time before the… moon rises.

He shook his head gently, and his lips formed a smile that never reached his eyes.

— Thank you. But I’d rather be alone. It’s better this way.

Tonks hesitated, but didn’t insist. She watched him as he crossed the kitchen and slipped out through the back door.

Sirius stepped closer in silence and stood beside her, looking in the same direction.

— Don’t worry —he said at last, without taking his eyes off the corridor where Remus had disappeared—. He’s been through worse.

Tonks took a deep breath.
She didn’t say anything, but her eyes remained fixed on the darkness of the corridor.

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The bottle of Wolfsbane potion rested on his bedside table.
The dark glass caught the faint glow of the lamp, and Remus Lupin watched it in silence. In his mind, he could still hear the muted echo of Severus Snape’s footsteps fading down the hallway.

It was a familiar exchange.
Month after month, Snape handed him the potion without so much as looking at him, with the same disdain as always and the same coldness of someone fulfilling an unpleasant duty.
Not a word more than necessary. Nothing that could be mistaken for closeness.

That evening, as the sun slowly withdrew, giving way to the moon, Lupin —from his room locked and secured with three bolts and a magical seal, in the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix— couldn’t help thinking about how it had all begun.

That first day of classes at Hogwarts.
The first Charms lesson.

He had arrived on time, still holding the schedule Professor McGonagall had given him.
There was only one other person in the room.
A thin, pale boy with black hair, who seemed lost inside a robe far too big for him, with the Slytherin crest gleaming on his chest.

For a moment, they connected—as if recognising in each other the same thing: two boys in a new place, surrounded by strangers, not yet knowing what to expect.

— Severus Snape —the boy had said, offering him his hand.

They had exchanged only a few words. Something about the wand he used, how his mother was skilled in Potions, or about the spell they would learn that day.
Snape already had the textbook open on the desk, filled with annotations, as if he had been practising before the class even started.

— Have you tried it already? —Lupin asked, pointing at the book.

Snape nodded with a grimace.

— Lumos works for me. Wingardium is harder.

— The movement is the tricky part, isn’t it? The angled twist.

— Exactly. —And for a second, he seemed relieved not to have to explain it further.

There was a brief silence.
Then Snape said, out of nowhere:

— My mother says that’s because left-handed wizards have it harder.

— You’re left-handed?

Snape raised his left hand, holding the wand with a theatrical gesture.

Lupin laughed, surprised, and did the same. To his astonishment, Snape laughed too. Not a full laugh—just a snort, a twitch of the lips. But it was enough.

For a few minutes, they weren’t Gryffindor or Slytherin. Just two children laughing at how clumsy a spell could be when done with the wrong hand.

Lupin remembered thinking the boy seemed intelligent, interesting. Friendly.

And then, before they could say more, James and Sirius appeared.

The hatred between them ignited as fast as a fire in dry grass.
Snape looked at James and Sirius with immediate contempt, and they looked at him as if they had found their natural enemy.
No reasons. No warnings. It just happened.

And Lupin… Lupin was already their friend.
Already part of the Gryffindor group that had decided to hate Snape.

They never spoke again.
They forgot that handshake that might have been the beginning of a friendship.
But they never completely ignored each other.

They watched one another in corridors, in classes, in Charms duels where both excelled. They kept each other in mind without needing words.

Two people who, in another life, under different circumstances, might have been friends.

They weren’t, not even companions.
Nor rivals, nor sworn enemies.
And it was too late to wonder what might have happened if things had been different.

They were that. Two parallel figures that crossed paths now and then. Like two ships in the night. Uncertain whether they would meet again.
But no matter how many years passed, fate —capricious as ever— kept bringing them back to each other.

As children, they shared classrooms.
As adults, they had been professors at Hogwarts at the same time, forced to coexist in the same castle.
And now, in the middle of a war, they were part of the same cause.

And they were bound by this too. By the Wolfsbane potion.

Lupin knew that, when he taught at Hogwarts, Dumbledore had asked Snape to brew it for him—not as an act of kindness, but as a safety measure, to protect the students and the staff. A favour imposed for the good of all.
But now, since they had reunited in the Order of the Phoenix, no one had asked him to. And yet Snape brought it every month.

So… had Snape decided to make it on his own?
Perhaps it was just another experiment in the Potions Master’s laboratory. He could believe that.
Perhaps a way to demonstrate superiority. That also seemed possible.

What was clear was that Snape wasn’t seeking recognition. He offered no explanation. He simply left the bottle and vanished.

Lupin leaned back in the chair, returning to the present.
He thought of how it had all begun again: with Voldemort’s return.

Harry had seen him with his own eyes. He had come back from the graveyard carrying Cedric Diggory’s death on his shoulders and a story many refused to believe.

Dumbledore, who had never doubted him, didn’t waste a second.
Almost immediately, he had sent messages to all former members of the Order of the Phoenix. Some, like Minerva McGonagall or Alastor Moody, were already at his side. Others had been out of the fight for years, scattered, trying to rebuild their lives away from the war. But Dumbledore’s call was inescapable. And they all answered.

Lupin thought of the owl that arrived at Grimmauld Place that night. By then, Sirius and he had already been living there for a few days.

— It’s time —Sirius said simply, handing him the note.

And so it was.

The first meeting took place in the old Black house, which would become the new headquarters of the Order. Lupin remembered clearly the looks everyone cast at Sirius. Awe. Distrust. Fear.

For years, the world had believed Sirius was a murderer. The traitor. And now, there he was, a cup of tea in his hand, greeting everyone with a restrained smile.

Molly and Arthur Weasley exchanged a tense look. Emmeline Vance approached with seriousness, scrutinising Sirius carefully, while Hestia Jones crossed her arms, measuring him in silence. Dedalus Diggle and Sturgis Podmore seemed less shocked, though no less watchful.

It was Dumbledore who broke the silence.

— Sirius Black is innocent.

The murmur that rippled through the room was not one of surprise. For many, it was simply the confirmation of what they already suspected. But hearing it aloud, from the Headmaster himself, dispelled any lingering doubt.

— It was Peter Pettigrew who betrayed the Potters —he continued—. And it was he who, with his own hand, caused Sirius to end up in Azkaban.

Some gazes fixed on Sirius.
Lupin, however, noticed another. One that held no surprise or understanding. Only contempt. It didn’t take much effort to locate its source.

He looked up and, at the far end of the room, found Snape, motionless, arms crossed. Watching them as if their presence in that meeting were the most ridiculous thing he had ever seen.

He didn’t need to say anything—his silence held all the words. To him, they were nothing more than two broken men —a fugitive and a werewolf— hiding in an empty house, playing at being soldiers in a war already lost.
As if they could contribute anything to the Order.

Lupin felt something heavy in his stomach.
Not anger. Not even irritation. Just exhaustion.

Snape, however, did not hold his gaze. When Dumbledore continued the meeting, he looked away and remained silent.

They did not speak. There was no reason to.

Two weeks later, without warning, Snape appeared at Grimmauld Place.

He crossed the threshold without ceremony and placed a dark bottle on the table.

Lupin recognised it immediately.
The remedy he had been so grateful for barely a year earlier: Wolfsbane Potion.

He looked up.
Snape didn’t utter a single word. He just stared at him, long and expressionless, as if expecting him to understand without explanation. Then he left with the same coldness with which he had arrived.

Since then, every month, without fail, he returned with another bottle. Without anyone asking him to—and, of course, without saying anything unnecessary.

Lupin let out a sigh, coming out of his thoughts. He picked up the bottle and took a sip. The potion was bitter, thick, with that unmistakable metallic aftertaste that clung to the tongue. A reminder of his condition.

Sometimes he wondered what Snape saw when he looked at him now.
A man marked by war? By the curse? By loss?
Or did he still see the first-year boy who, for a brief moment, had sat beside him and shaken his hand before everything fell apart?

Whatever the case, he would never know.
Because he would never ask.

At that moment, the full moon rose into the sky, and Remus Lupin stopped thinking.

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Lupin had almost forgotten what it was like to spend a full-moon night without accidents.
And without suffering.

For years, the transformations had left his body wrecked: fever, nausea, migraines… and that terrible sensation of internal tearing that sawed through his bones.
But that night, everything was different.

When the last rays of moonlight faded, Lupin simply returned to his human form. Just like that.
No spasms. No pain. No exhaustion.
Not even guilt.

He was well. Strangely well.

He couldn’t help smiling, incredulous at the sensation.
He remained seated for a moment, staring at his hands as if expecting to find some trace of the beast upon them.
But there was nothing.
Just human skin.
And calm.

He washed. He dressed.

And then a growl in his stomach brought him back to the present with almost feral intensity.

Normally, after a transformation, he couldn’t even smell food without feeling sick.
But that morning was different.
He was hungry. A fierce, clean hunger, unlike anything he had felt after a full moon in a very long time.

With light steps, he headed toward the kitchen, already savouring what would no doubt be a generous breakfast prepared by Molly Weasley’s expert hands.
And as he descended the last steps, guided by that warm, homely aroma, his mind returned for a moment to Snape.

There was care in the potion.
It was clear that, month after month, he improved his recipe.

Lupin wondered whether, deep down, Snape understood what he achieved in him each lunar cycle.
Probably not.
And even if he did, it didn’t matter.

There would be no gratitude.
No words.
Only silence. And peace.

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He entered the kitchen with a calm step and found exactly the scene he had expected: Molly was stirring something in a saucepan with a concentrated frown and tightly pressed lips, while Arthur flipped absently through a crumpled copy of that day’s Daily Prophet.
Sirius was sitting at the table, arms crossed, back straight, staring toward the door as if every second without seeing Harry appear added to his worry.

When Lupin walked in, Sirius shot him a quick glance.
He said nothing, but in his eyes there was something that looked a lot like bewilderment.
As if he hadn’t expected to see him so soon.
Or so whole.

Lupin replied with a quiet, gentle smile and sat beside him naturally, as if he hadn’t spent the entire night transformed into a beast.

— Coffee? —Molly asked without turning around.

— Thank you, Molly —he answered softly.

The saucepan kept bubbling as
Arthur cleared his throat behind the newspaper and Sirius pretended to be calmer than he was. Judging by the dark circles under his eyes, he was the one who seemed to have spent a restless night. His fingers tapped lightly on the table, without rhythm or intention—just the nervous tic of someone trying to stay steady.

Lupin didn’t say anything. By now, he could read Sirius’s silences better than his words.

The clock on the wall moved with exasperating slowness.

And then the sound of boots creaked in the hallway, and the door opened with a soft squeak.
Tonks walked in wrapped in a Ministry cloak, her hair a faded, slightly messy blond from the humidity. She had shadows under her eyes, but her expression kept its usual liveliness and spark, as if she refused to let exhaustion win.

— Morning —she said, her eyes quickly sweeping the room—. Isn’t Harry up yet?

— Not yet —answered Molly, without lifting her gaze from the pan—, but he won’t be long.

Tonks nodded and approached the table with quick steps. She let herself drop into the seat opposite Lupin and Sirius with a small sigh, offering them a restrained smile—just enough not to look worried.

— How was the night? —Lupin asked, tilting his head slightly.

— Quiet —she replied, lifting a shoulder. Then, as if surprised to see him looking so well after the full moon, she studied him more closely. She leaned toward him and lowered her voice—: And yours?

Lupin let out a small nasal chuckle, amused by the auror’s poorly disguised concern.

— Very good. Better than ever, actually.

And as he said it, his expression softened. For a moment, that lightness in his features made him look younger.

Tonks held his gaze a second too long. She recognised that look—the calm amber eyes, with that quiet depth she had grown unexpectedly fond of. And without meaning to, she smiled as well. A faint blush crept onto her cheeks, unexpected.

To hide the quickening of her pulse, she lifted her gaze toward the Daily Prophet Arthur still had unfolded. The headline took up half the front page, in bold, alarming letters:

“GROWING INTERNAL THREAT: IS DUMBLEDORE PREPARING A TAKEOVER OF THE MINISTRY?”
“Head of Aurors R. Scrimgeour demands maximum vigilance from all magical departments.”

Tonks rolled her eyes.

— The entire Ministry is in paranoia mode. Last night, Booth told me Scrimgeour ordered security reinforced as if Dumbledore were about to storm in with an army of centaurs.

Arthur snorted behind the paper.

— And meanwhile, Fudge keeps pretending everything is fine… as if ignoring problems were a way to govern —he muttered.

— Scrimgeour isn’t a bad man —Tonks replied, more to herself than to convince them—. He’s got good judgement, but… he’s very political. He won’t stand up to Fudge. Not if it puts his position at risk.

— Nor if it puts the truth at risk —Lupin said quietly.

— Now it’s harder to ask for even a single day off —she added—. Between Kingsley, Moody and me, we have to monitor every move. One wrong step and they’re on us like a Niffler on gold.

The silence that followed was brief but dense. Molly hurried to break it.

— Tonks, do you want tea?

— Yes, thanks. With a bit of honey, if there is any.

Sirius kept glancing sideways toward the hallway.
Every so often, his eyes slid back to the clock on the wall. He seemed to be holding himself still with his entire body, as if forcing himself not to stand and start pacing.

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HP5–chapter7: From the beginning until Harry leaves Grimmauld Place with Mr Weasley.

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The door closed with a soft click, and Harry’s and Arthur’s footsteps faded down the corridor until they disappeared completely.
For a moment, silence settled over the kitchen like a thick fog. No one moved.

Molly slowly sat down in the chair her husband had just vacated, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her purple dressing gown brushed the floor slightly, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes remained fixed on the door, as if she could still see Harry standing there with his pressed shirt and unruly hair.

Sirius also stayed silent, his gaze fixed on the floor. He hadn’t said a word since Harry had left.

It was Lupin who spoke, with more optimism than was usual for him.

— Everything will be fine —he said softly—. Dumbledore won’t allow him to be expelled. He knows how to handle these situations.

Molly nodded, just a faint motion.

— Yes… yes, of course. Dumbledore —she whispered, though her eyes remained distant—. But they didn’t even let him attend…

— That’s part of the Ministry’s strategy —Lupin said, with measured calm—. They want to weaken him, to make it seem like he no longer has authority. But you know him, Molly. You know what he’s capable of, even when every door is shut in his face.

— And he knows how to move within the Ministry better than anyone —added Tonks, raising her voice slightly—. Even if they pretend otherwise, they’re still afraid of him. Very much so.

Sirius snorted bitterly.

— Yes, they fear him… and that’s why they want to neutralise him.

— And that’s exactly why they won’t succeed —Tonks replied, with more conviction—. Because he’s used to being underestimated, and he always catches them off guard. Remember when they summoned him to the Wizengamot a few years ago? He walked out with more support than he had going in.

— Exactly —Lupin agreed, looking at both of them with steady calm—. Dumbledore knows when to speak and when to stay silent. When to push and when to wait. He won’t abandon Harry. He never has.

Molly lifted her gaze to him with a slow blink, as if his words had melted some of the frost clinging to her.

— Sometimes I struggle to understand how he can be so sure of everything. Of Harry, of this war… of us winning in the end.

— It’s not that he knows —Lupin replied, with a faint smile—. It’s that he trusts. And in times like these, that’s what we need most.

Tonks nodded again, crossing one leg over the other.

— And if he has faith in Harry, then we should too. He’s young, yes, but he’s no child. And today… today he’s going to prove it.

For a moment, Sirius looked up, and his eyes met Lupin’s. Then Tonks’s. As if he needed to weigh the real weight of those words. As if he didn’t quite dare to believe them… and yet wanted to.

The tension dissolved, leaving behind a different kind of stillness.
Mrs Weasley stood up slowly and, after a small sigh, lit the fire under one of the pans again. The soft clinking of the spoon brought a little life back into the kitchen.

From upstairs came faint noises: footsteps in the hallway, a door slamming, a muffled laugh. Fred or George, most likely. Molly sighed, this time with a hint of tenderness.

Tonks, still sitting in her chair, let her eyes drift closed, allowing herself to sink into that unexpected moment of respite.

The kitchen, which moments earlier had been full of voices, sighs, and tension, had fallen silent. Only the soft murmur of the kettle and the warm air floating around them remained, like an invisible blanket.

Her hair, as if responding to the rest she was allowing herself, began to change colour slowly.
From the faded morning yellow, it slid into a more serene shade. For a moment, before settling into its usual pink, it turned a warm, coppery orange—like sunlight slipping through a window left closed for too long.

Lupin noticed. It wasn’t the pink that made him blink, but that flash of orange.
Fleeting, like a spark catching in the dimness.

For a second, Tonks reminded him of someone.
Someone who, years ago, had also known how to make others feel seen.
Someone who, with an unexpected smile and a timely word, had slipped past his reserve and walked into his life without asking permission.

Lily.

Tonks opened her eyes.
She found Lupin’s gaze already on her.
It wasn’t intense, nor uncomfortable, but there was a strange stillness in it. As if, for a moment, he had lost himself in his thoughts. As if he had been about to say something he ultimately chose to keep to himself.

— What? —Tonks asked, with a light smile, lifting an eyebrow.

— Nothing —he replied, in the same tone.

The word lingered in the air for a second, leaving behind the faint trace of something unspoken.

— You’re looking down, Tonks —Sirius called from his corner, with a half-twisted smile.

Tonks shrugged simply.

— Yeah… I don’t know. I’m calm —she said, and turned her head briefly toward Lupin.

He was still looking at her, though this time, when he realised he’d been caught, he looked away a second later.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE:

Good morning, everyone!

We’ve finally reached one of my favourite arcs:
the dynamic between Lupin and Snape.

As you can see, I’ve always felt they are two very similar characters—two sides of the same coin: solitary, introspective, with vast inner worlds layered in complexity; and raised in difficult circumstances.

Lupin, with his curse.
And Snape… well, I’m not sure if this part is canon or just my own interpretation, but I’ve always imagined Snape coming from a broken home. In HP7, when that detail appears about him trying to hide a woman’s blouse, it has always given me the impression of a forgotten child, uncomfortable in his own house.
A child who was in the way.
Someone who grew up feeling out of place.

That’s why I see such a strong parallel between them.

And I think it matters. In fact, I believe the difference between the two comes down to luck: Lupin ended up in a house where he found real friends—people who showed him the optimistic, fun, bright side of life. Not only solitude, withdrawal, or illness.

Snape never had that chance.

And that’s where the fracture lies for me:
how two very similar people can end up walking entirely different paths depending on who stands beside them.

This chapter explores exactly that.

I’m curious what you think.
In any case, that was my intention: to give this chapter weight through the Lupin–Snape dynamic, a relationship—or non-relationship—that will definitely continue to evolve later on.

You can see the chapter’s illustration on my social media.
Feel free to stop by Instagram or TikTok ♥

Here are all my links:
https://lagatakafka.com/links/